


Akatsuki

by night_mist (mist_chance)



Category: Aru Otoko no Higeki, Yoru to Asa no Uta
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Dubious Consent, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:23:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mist_chance/pseuds/night_mist
Summary: Tomoki caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He slowly straightened to his full height, cracking his neck as he casually turned his attention to the man who stood at the apartment door next to Asaichi’s. The man, a redhead, placed the plastic bag he was carrying in front of the door. Then he moved to stand over Asaichi, and tilted his head back to fearlessly meet Tomoki’s gaze.“Hey,” said the redhead, his voice deeper than Tomoki thought it would be; he’d expected a higher pitch, based on the redhead’s slender build. “What business do you have with Asaichi-kun?”“Nothing that concerns you,” Iori-san sneered around a cigarette.The redhead glanced at Iori-san, raised an eyebrow, and then looked back at Tomoki. “I think you’re wrong about that. I don’t really like Asaichi-kun, but he’s my neighbor. I’m not going to walk away and pretend I didn’t seen anything when he’s obviously in trouble.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Tomoda Tomoki, Iori-san, Asaichi, Yoru, and other identifiable characters belong to _Yoru to Asa no Uta_ , written by Harada. Recognizable events are also from _Yoru to Asa_ and _Aru Otoko no Higeki_ , though this fic is an AU of these events with my OMC, Hisui. 
> 
> **WARNINGS:** Mentions of and threats of rape, violence, dubious consent, and explicit sex in later chapters.
> 
> For those of you familiar with Harada's work, you know what to expect. (If you're not familiar with Harada, PLEASE don't read her work unless you're (preferably) of legal age, or at the very least prepared to read about dark themes, and often violent sexual encounters/relationships.) This fic won't (or shouldn't) be as dark, but since it's based off of/inspired by Harada's work, it might bleed into my writing. 
> 
> **Notes:** I don't condone rape or dubious consent. This is my first time writing dark themes, explicit sex, and sensitive content. I hope I don't come off as insensitive, or as though I'm treating these topics lightly. If I portray something inaccurately or without proper care, please let me know in the comments and I will revise to the best of my ability.
> 
> Now that that's all out of the way; if you're okay with everything so far, then read on and enjoy!

Tomoki didn’t bat an eye as he watched Iori-san bury a brutal kick into Asaichi’s stomach. In his opinion, it was overkill to hit a guy when he was already down — Iori-san had already punched Asaichi to the ground with a ring-laced fist — but Tomoki wasn’t paid to give his opinion. So he stayed quiet and waited until Iori-san’s burst of violent anger seemed momentarily satisfied. Then he leaned over to search for Asaichi’s keys.

Early on, when Tomoki started working for Iori-san, he mistakenly thought people beaten into submission were easier to deal with: physically, at least. He learned this wasn’t true the first time he assisted Iori-san with a collection that needed a more…aggressive approach.

People beaten into submission weren’t pliant. They went limp, like wet noodles, or trembled so violently they could hardly move. And that was without adding in the emotional effect a beating had on someone, which could make a person mentally check out so they didn’t respond at all. Asaichi didn’t seem like he’d checked out — he lay on his side curled into himself, whimpering and trembling — so it wasn’t too hard for Tomoki to pat down his pockets.

While he was handing Asaichi’s keys over to Iori-san, Tomoki caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He slowly straightened to his full height, cracking his neck as he casually turned his attention to the man who stood at the apartment door next to Asaichi’s. The man, a redhead, placed the plastic bag he was carrying in front of the door. Then he moved to stand over Asaichi, and tilted his head back to fearlessly meet Tomoki’s gaze.

“Hey,” said the redhead, his voice deeper than Tomoki thought it would be; he’d expected a higher pitch, based on the redhead’s slender build. “What business do you have with Asaichi-kun?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Iori-san sneered around a cigarette.

Iori-san sounded dismissive, but not any more irritated than he’d been earlier. Hopefully that meant Tomoki wouldn’t be ordered to rough Red up. Tomoki usually didn’t care what Iori-san’s orders were; but he still felt half-asleep, and he didn’t feel like beating up someone else on top of raping Asaichi in the same night.

The redhead glanced at Iori-san, raised an eyebrow, and then looked back at Tomoki. “I think you’re wrong about that. I don’t really like Asaichi-kun, but he’s my neighbor. I’m not going to walk away and pretend I didn’t seen anything when he’s obviously in trouble.”

Red stood level with Tomoki’s chin, and looked to be half his size in bulk and weight. Despite that size difference, Tomoki could tell Red knew how to fight. He mirrored Tomoki’s casual stance, and there was a trained, purposeful looseness to his body that showed he was ready to react at the slightest sign of violence.

Mostly though, it was his eyes that gave him away. Red’s eyes, an odd blue-green color in the dull outdoor lighting, were watchful and wary, and had only broken away from Tomoki’s gaze once. An experienced fighter knew his opponent’s eyes gave away their intentions; and Red could tell that Tomoki, while maybe not the most dangerous person present, was the most likely to attack.

Iori-san moved, briefly drawing Tomoki’s attention. He was glaring at the redhead through his sunglasses, and looked almost as pissed at him as he was with Asaichi.

“That blond monkey owes me compensation,” Iori-san snapped, jabbing his cigarette at Asaichi. Asaichi whimpered; he hadn’t moved from his curled position on the floor. He was mostly likely staying still to try and get everyone around him to forget he was even there. “He struck my sister’s face.”

“And you not only punched him in the face, but kicked him in the ribs and stomach,” Red countered. He stepped over Asaichi to act as a human barrier, ending up close enough to Tomoki that they were almost chest-to-chest. “But that’s not the kind of compensation you’re looking for, is it?”

Tomoki glanced sideways at Iori-san to gauge his reaction. Red was surprisingly perceptive to figure out Iori-san had a personal grudge against Asaichi; a grudge Tomoki suspected had little to do with Shiori’s injury, and more to do with Iori-san’s obsession with that bassist from Asaichi’s band. Yoru, or whoever. Iori-san usually appreciated perceptive people, because they were less likely to irritate him. They were generally more proactive and efficient, as workers or clients, which made Iori-san’s job easier. But he appreciated them less when they were perceptive about his personal life.

Sure enough, Iori-san’s hand darted out to grab a fistful of Red’s hoodie. The fabric bunched in Iori-san’s grip as he got into the Red’s face, and a vein visibly throbbed at his temple. Tomoki twitched, stopping the instinctive reaction to Iori-san’s abrupt move. He wasn’t sure whether he would’ve grabbed Red himself, or stopped Iori-san from doing so…

“And what kind of compensation do you think I’m looking for, smartass?” Iori-san asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Red seemed unfazed by the intimidation, and smoothly broke free of Iori-san’s grasp. “If you’ll hear me out, I have a better idea of how you can get monetary compensation,” he said, wisely not mentioning how personal Iori-san’s debt collection appeared. “One that doesn’t involve raping Asaichi-kun. If that’s what you were planning to do.” Amazingly, he managed to not sound mocking as he correctly guessed Iori-san’s intention for Asaichi.

The mention of money cooled off Iori-san’s ire. He stepped back to take a drag of his cigarette. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll be the uke in your porn video. Willing participants sell better than unwilling ones, even if the unwilling ones are celebrities of some sort.”

“Such confidence,” Iori-san said, mockingly. “And what makes you so certain you’ll be a more successful star than the blond monkey?”

“Like I said, I’ll be a willing, active participant. I’m used to gay sex, and even if your guy here is straight, I can get him horny enough so he won’t go limp halfway through. And lastly,” Red stepped closer until he was pressed against Tomoki’s side, “I think we look pretty good together. Physical compatibility’s important when making porn, and that doesn’t just mean how we have sex; it’s about how we look together, too. What do you think?”

Tomoki had already gone stiff when Red touched his side; he felt no different from a tree by the time the man’s head of messy red spikes rested against his chest. He’d been paying more attention to Red’s threat level than his appearance, earlier. Now that he thought about it, though, Tomoki realized Red was rather pretty for a man. If he squinted a bit and amped up his imagination, Tomoki could probably pull off pretending Red was a flat-chested woman; but only if he focused from the waist up.

Red was right: most gay porn, from what Tomoki had glanced at, featured partners that were opposites. The uke was usually the smaller and prettier of the pair, while the seme was built and “manlier” looking. Technically, from a physical standpoint, Tomoki would pair well with either Asaichi or Red. But if Tomoki had to choose between Asaichi, an unwilling partner, or Red, who at least _seemed_ willing…

Well, he’d rather go with Red.

“Hn.” Iori-san tilted his head as he stared at them. After several puffs of cigarette smoke, he stirred. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, Neighbor-kun. But know this.” Iori-san stepped close, using the inch or so he had over Red to stare him down. “If you don’t meet my quota with this video, we’ll come back to make as many of them as needed until you _do_. Understood?”

Red nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”

Though he sounded confident, Red’s body gave him away. Tomoki glanced down at Red and pretended not to feel him tremble slightly against his side. He pretended not to notice, so he wouldn’t have to think about why he felt tempted to comfort this strange man who was willing to go so far to save a neighbor he didn’t like from a bad situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reread _YataMomo_ , _Yoru to Asa_ and the crossover dj — or rather, read them carefully for the first time to understand the stories instead of skimming through to see if I'd like to read them — recently, and became intrigued (obsessed) with Tomoda Tomoki. I wanted to write a story with him as the protagonist, so this fic came about.
> 
> Though it's not tagged as such yet, this fic will be a fusion with _One Piece_ ; characters from OP will appear in later chapters.
> 
> Please leave kudos/comments/reviews to show your support!
> 
>  **Additional edits:** 2/17/20


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red’s touch was feather-light, almost ghost-like, tempting Tomoki to grasp his wrist to make sure he _stayed_ where he was. But then Red started tugging down the waistband of Tomoki's pants and boxers, and his brain short-circuited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated, but there's no sex in this chapter.

Bare. That was Tomoki’s first thought after stepping into Red’s apartment.

Red had a 1K, the typical layout for this kind of crappy apartment complex. It was large enough for two people to live in, if they didn’t mind living on top of each other. A small kitchen branched off the hallway, which went on a few steps further and opened into the living area. A bed, twin-sized by the look of it, was pushed along the right-side wall, with a standalone clothes rack beside it. Along the opposite wall was a couch, and next to it, the bathroom. Against the far wall, near the window, was a low, folded table. 

Iori-san took the couch, while Tomoki paced the length of the room a few times from the mouth of the entrance way to the back window. As he did so, he clocked all the details that marked the apartment as “off”: little to no clutter on the floor or any of the furniture, no knickknacks, keepsakes, or photos. Nothing marked the apartment as Red’s. It was lived in, but it wasn’t a home. It could belong to anyone; or to any university student, at least, based on the backpack and the stack of textbooks near the table.

Satisfied with his inspection, Tomoki moved to lean against the wall behind Iori-san.

“He’s taking too fucking long,” Iori-san growled, puffing on his cigarette in time with his jiggling leg: inhale, bounce up, exhale, sink down, on a loop. It was his third one in the past half hour. He snarled another curse, stilling his leg as he leaned forward to brace his elbow on it. Ash crumbled off the end of his cigarette to splash on the hardwood floor.

Red had exchanged keys with Iori-san before leading a whimpering, trembling Asaichi next door, into the blonde’s apartment. It wasn’t surprising he was still over there. Just from tailing Asaichi and observing him for a few hours, Tomoki got the sense Asaichi was the “high strung” type. The kind of punk who barked loudly at threats, but when confronted with them directly and backed into a corner, would rather cower than fight. Red seemed to be the opposite, based on how he’d dealt with Iori-san so far.

At any other time, Red’s behavior would be admirable. The problem was that Iori-san had little to no patience on a good day, and based on the speed he was bouncing his leg, it looked like he had none left. And an Iori-san without any patience left became _vicious_.

Tomoki hummed in the back of his throat and slouched back against the wall. He couldn’t tell if Red was smart or stupid for taking Asaichi’s place in a porn shoot, in addition to giving a pair of obvious yakuza access to his home. If Tomoki had been in Red’s position— Well. He _wouldn’t_ be in Red’s position, ever, because he could care less about his neighbors in his shithole of an apartment complex. Especially if he didn’t like them.

What he _did_ know was that Red hadn’t bolted. Red had honor, the old, bushido-like kind, and the resolve to uphold it. Tomoki had seen the steeliness of it in Red’s eyes. It was the reason Red had bothered to interrupt an assault, and offer himself up as collateral instead. Red wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, otherwise.

The door swung open, and Tomoki looked up half a second too late. Though he was more awake, Tomoki still felt sluggish. He didn’t have the energy to act outside the bare minimum of his usual job description: protect Iori-san and follow his orders. Red stepped inside, and Tomoki relaxed again.

As though feeling Tomoki’s eyes on him, Red’s eyes darted up. “Sorry for the wait.” He shut the door and kicked off his shoes. “Could I have a little more time, just to get ready?”

Red passed by the kitchen and left the plastic bag he’d been carrying earlier on the floor. He stopped just inside the living area to slip off his hoodie and drape it over the clothes rack.

“‘Get ready’?” Iori-san sneered. Without hesitation or a hint of shame, he dropped what was left of his current cigarette onto the floor and ground it under his shoe. Red watched, expressionless, as Iori-san moved to stand in his space and loom. “What are you, a fucking woman? The hell you gotta get ready for?”

“He,” Red’s eyes flicked over to Tomoki briefly, before returning to look steadily at Iori-san, “can’t just shove his dick in me. He couldn’t even if I was a woman, but since I’m a guy, it’s even more of a bad idea. Give me twenty minutes or so to prep, and I’ll be ready to film when I step out.”

Iori-san scoffed, “And you can’t let him ‘prep’ you?”

He glanced over, and at the jerk of his head, Tomoki slunk over to stand at Iori-san’s shoulder. Tomoki towered over both of them, and felt awkward for doing so during an obvious battle of wills. Most people in Red’s position didn’t have the balls to stand off against Iori-san.

Red looked between them, and then smiled. It was too small, too sharp to be sincere. “I only let my boyfriend prep me.”

Iori-san stared him down, his narrowed, snake-like eyes boring into Red. Neither of them blinked. He stepped away when Red didn’t back off, and sat on the couch. “Make it quick.”

Red nodded and ducked into the bathroom just a few steps away from the couch. He kept his eyes on Tomoki until the door shut between them, his expression unreadable. The shower squeaked on, and the sound of water pattering against tile echoed through the door.

Tomoki returned to his previous position against the wall. He was mildly impressed by the way Red had handled Iori-san. It’d been stupid, but admirable. With people like Iori-san, that kind of attitude didn’t pay off in the long run. They always found a way to make you pay.

“After we’re done here,” Iori-san said suddenly, over the whisper of the shower, “we’ll pay that blond monkey another visit.”

Tomoki stayed quiet, unsurprised by Iori-san’s decision. After all, this entire situation had always been more about Iori-san’s personal grudge against Asaichi, than about making a porn video.

 

\-----------------

 

“This light is shitty.” Iori-san clicked his tongue in disgust as he fiddled with the camera buttons.

Iori-san had decided the couch would be the primary location. Tomoki watched him move around it, tilting the camera at different angles to test the lighting. He heard the shower shut off. Tiny pinpricks of heat trickled up his arms, raising the tattooed skin into goosebumps even though his sleeves covered them.

“Thanks for waiting.” Red stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He was dressed in a cream colored, long-sleeved shirt with a neckline that dipped low on his chest, and black boxer briefs. As he lifted a hand to ruffle his damp hair, the shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of smooth, tanned skin.

A slow heat started pooling low in Tomoki’s stomach, startling him. He hadn’t expected to feel anything, but apparently the curve of Red’s neck and the slender line of his bare legs did it for him. It wouldn’t be difficult to get it up.

Red noticed Tomoki’s gaze, but didn’t seem embarrassed by the attention. Instead, he sat on the couch with his legs tucked under him and shamelessly spread. It was hard for Tomoki to tear his eyes away. “Have you ever filmed porn that doesn’t involve rape?”

“He has,” Iori-san said, jabbing a thumb at Tomoki.

“Ah…” Tomoki restlessly shifted his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable at being called out. “You see… At the time, I’d just gotten my tattoos. They said it was scary, so I picked up a drink and went home.”

Iori-san burst into laughter, just as he had the first time Tomoki shared his failed attempt in entering the porn industry. Red, instead of laughing, gave a small smile. It was completely different from the knife-like smile he’d given Iori-san earlier. This one suited his face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners and shimmer like the surface of a sunlit ocean.

“They must be some impressive tattoos, then. I have one myself, so I won’t be taking my shirt off while we’re filming. Don’t worry,” he continued, when Iori-san frowned, “I’ll make sure you still get good angles.”

“…Why do you want to know?” Tomoki asked. If Red was just a college student, he shouldn’t have any interest in the porn industry. Actual porn, yes, but not the mechanics behind making and distributing it.

“I’ve never filmed porn, but I have an acquaintance who’s in the industry. He told me good porn has a narrative to it, because porn is basically a fantasy. So you give the stars a character to play, place them in scene, and let their bodies tell the story so the viewers can pretend _they’re_ in the story.”

“And what’s the ‘story’ you have in mind?” Iori-san said mockingly.

Red aimed a mischievous grin at Tomoki, startling him. “One not too off from real life: a pushy power-bottom seduces a straight guy for the night. Between the two of us, we should be able to make something that brings in money.”

Tomoki understood only half of what Red planned to do, but he did get that they were going to get started. He rolled up the sleeves of his tracksuit, and reached for the waistband of his pants as he moved to the couch. “Pushy power-bottom?”

“That means…” Red’s grin widened as he tugged Tomoki off balance by the arm, pushed him against the armrest, and crouched between his legs. “You lay there and let me do the work, Kuro-san.”

“Kuro-san?” Tomoki realized he was starting to sound like an idiot, just repeating everything unfamiliar Red said, but his brain wasn’t working right.

Red’s fingers danced down Tomoki’s forearm, tracing the dragon scales tattooed there. Tomoki often liked to think of the scales as armor, given his job. But under Red’s gentle fingers, he was reminded that he was flesh, and that he could ache for the press of another’s body against his own. Red’s touch was feather-light, almost ghost-like, tempting Tomoki to grasp his wrist to make sure he _stayed_ where he was. Then Red started tugging down the waistband of Tomoki's pants and boxers, and his brain short-circuited.

“Your acting name,” Red explained, freeing Tomoki’s dick. It was already red and half-hard, heavy enough to flop obscenely over the waistband of his pants. He cupped Tomoki’s balls to steady it, not flinching at its size. “Unless you prefer ‘Ryuu-san’ instead, for your tattoos.” He glanced up as he opened a condom he’d gotten from…somewhere, and rolled it onto Tomoki’s dick.

“No…” Tomoki hissed slightly as he felt his dick harden further in Red’s hand. “Kuro’s fine. I guess you’re ‘Aka’?”

Something like a grimace flashed across Red’s face, but it slipped away before it became a solid expression. “Yeah,” Red agreed, his breath brushing against Tomoki’s dick. It felt hot and moist, even through the condom. Heat pooled low in Tomoki’s stomach, thick and heavy like syrup. “That’ll work for now.”

Then Red swallowed his dick down to the base, and sucked out all of his conscious thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I technically wrote this chapter and another one shortly after posting Ch. 1. But I wasn't happy with either of them. I've been sitting on this chapter a while, tinkering around with it and tweaking it. Originally the sex scene was going to finish up this chapter, but I thought I reached a good end point, and I'm relatively happy with this chapter now. And, to be honest, I'm tired of looking over this chapter. 
> 
> Since this is my first time posting explicit sexual content, I decided to put the sex scene in a different chapter to give me more time to work on it. Fair warning: it'll probably be a shorter chapter, and I make no promises as to whether it's good or not.
> 
> In any case, I hope you've enjoyed reading so far! As I mentioned in the last chapter, the end goal for this fic is a fusion with One Piece characters. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like they'll appear until Ch. 4. I have most of the aftermath scene already written out, but I still have to get over the hurdle that is Ch. 3 (*sweat drops). 
> 
> Please leave kudos/comments to show your support! If you have any constructive feedback, or questions, please leave a comment below or reach out on my Tumblr side-blog: [@nighted-mist](https://nighted-mist.tumblr.com/), where I'm cross-posting this fic.


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